


I Have A Fifth Sense

by CurufinweAtarinke



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Crack, Gen, Please please don’t take this seriously, Ridiculous Crack, this is the antithesis to all those fics where celegorm is a dumb fratboy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-29 12:16:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21410053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CurufinweAtarinke/pseuds/CurufinweAtarinke
Summary: Curufin catches more flies with honey than with vinegar
Comments: 8
Kudos: 87





	I Have A Fifth Sense

**Author's Note:**

> alternate summary - hot twunk curvo fucking people over cos they think he’s dumb

It had started partly as a challenge. 

“Honestly,” Curufinwë said in exasperation, watching Tyelkormo enjoy the spoils of his efforts. “Why do all these people keep buying drinks for you, but they won’t come near me?” He could afford his own drinks of course, as a prince recently come into adulthood, but it was always nice to be bought things.

“Because, dear brother,” Tyelkormo said, finishing his wine, “I’m approachable and attractive, and you may be the second, but you are by no means the first.”

Curufinwë scrunched up his face into a scowl. “I don’t understand. They only do this because they think you are both loose and foolish, with nothing between your ears. They think that you will let them do anything if they tell you you are beautiful.”

Tyelkormo laughed. “I know, but I am none of those things. You may think that I lose dignity by allowing them to think this, but in fact it is they who underestimate me. I take what I want and give nothing back.”

Tyelkormo paused to let this register. “People are fools who just see what they want to see. They’re so easy to take advantage of.” He smiled, then continued with a note of challenge in his voice. “Of course, I don’t know if your pride would let you do what I do.”

Curufinwë’s hand shot out to stop Tyelkormo picking up his next drink. He grabbed the glass and downed it, eyes coming up to meet his brother’s.

“Turco,” he said, “you should know by now that I succeed at _everything_ I choose to turn my hand to.” With that, he slammed the empty glass back down, and turned to leave the tavern.

Tyelkormo could not help but feel that he had unleashed a monster.

-

Tyelkormo was almost awed at how easy it _was_ for Curufinwë, and how seriously his brother seemed to take pretending to be completely airheaded. Within months, most of their extended family had somehow gained complete amnesia over how sardonic and caustic Curufinwë had been for most of his life. Tyelkormo could only marvel at how Curufinwë had taken to a life of extreme manipulation.

It had been rocky at first. Curufinwë had apparently little to no appetite himself for carnal desires, and was unsure how to proceed initially. Tyelkormo had been incredibly amused by his brother’s first attempts at batting his eyelashes, wherein he looked like something was stuck in his eye. But on the whole, Curufinwë took almost distressingly well to his act.

He developed a laugh that somehow sounded as though he had no idea what he was supposed to find funny, but was finding it entertaining anyway. He had somehow had the fortune to inherit their father’s dimpled smile, and he now utilised it to devastating effect to make it look as though he had never had a bad thought in his life. At the start, if one knew Curufinwë _well_, it was possible to tell from his eyes that he wasn’t being genuine, but as time went on he became skilled at masking even that.

It was Carnistir who had partially explained Curufinwë’s success.

“Listen,” he had said between mouthfuls. “Curvo is so much _nicer_ now. He says please, and this morning he brought me this cake in exchange for some things I made. I know it’ll probably return to bite me, but it’s better than a few months ago when he called me a blithering moron because _he_ stood on _my_ foot. I know none of it’s real, but it’s definitely improved our relationship.”

“You want to watch out if he made that himself,” Tyelkormo had replied. “Last week he accidentally dropped a metallurgy sample into his cake batter, and gave me an actual rock cake.”

Tyelkormo was unsure how their father felt about it. Their mother regarded it with an air of extreme amusement, and Father seemed to be the same. Curufinwë’s performance in the forge was unaffected at any rate, which was the important thing, so their father seemed to give it a pass. Perhaps he thought Curufinwë would grow out of it. Tyelkormo wasn’t so certain.

Curufinwë delighted in coming out with the most idiotic questions and comments at the least opportune times for everyone else. Tyelkormo would be sure he practiced it even if he hadn’t caught him rehearsing. His delivery was too perfectly timed, the tone just right.

When their mother had announced her pregnancy with twins, Curufinwë had piped up with, “Do twins take two years to be born instead of one?” right as poor Macalaurë was taking a sip of his drink. The resulting mess had cemented Tyelkormo’s conviction that he’d been waiting for the moment that would cause most catastrophe.

The thing was, it worked. Curufinwë was plied with gifts from hopeful suitors both male and female, in the hopes that he would be an easy way into the royal family. They were sorely disappointed when Curufinwë produced a child, though it didn’t stop most of them.

Tyelkormo wasn’t sure what Curufinwë’s _wife_ knew either. Curufinwë had been deep into his act for years when they met, and Tyelkormo knew Costamë was not one to suffer fools. When he’d asked Curufinwë, his brother had laughed that practiced laugh and said lightly, “I would _never_ kiss and tell.” Which really told Tyelkormo nothing.

-

Of course, in the aftermath of the darkening, Curufinwë dropped any sort of guise of idiocy. It had been a fun diversion for him, but he did not have the stomach for it when their father was ashes.

It was centuries later when it was brought up again, as their beleaguered people were approaching Nargothrond. The discussion between Celegorm and Curufin was centred on how to get Finrod to take such a large group of refugees into his secret city.

“Finrod,” said Curufin, “is a decent person, so he’ll definitely lend us aid, despite his horrendous track record with actually helping defend Beleriand from Morgoth.”

They were sat around a small fire about a mile away from where they knew the gates of Nargothrond to be, surrounded on all sides by their weary people. Celebrimbor was quietly running a whetstone over their blades next to them.

Celegorm sighed. “Yes, but I still feel we need a contingency plan to play on his heartstrings. We want to be in the best position possible, and he is friendly with Doriath who we are not on best terms with after that mishap with you and Eöl.”

“Me being falsely accused of murder you mean,” Curufin snapped. He thought for a second, brow creasing in the middle. “Hmmm,” he mused. “Finrod has not seen me since Valinor, apart from some brief glimpses.”

Celegorm at first was unsure what he was getting at, before the realisation hit him. “You mean you’re going to-“

Curufin smiled, and his face became softer somehow, almost doe-eyed. Celegorm recoiled.

“Varda’s _tits_, I forgot how scary that is.”

Curufin laughed, and it wasn’t the one Celegorm had heard for the last four hundred years - it was much nicer and more melodic. Even Curufin’s calculating face seemed more like he was trying to think about the answer to a difficult question like basic mathematics, or how to lace his boots.

“Turco,” he said, “strip off your tunic.”

“What?!” Celegorm balked.

“I don’t know why you’re so reticent,” Curufin said rudely, “you’re always taking off your top even when it’s freezing.”

Celebrimbor quietly put his hands over his face in despair. Celegorm felt the same way, but obliged his bossy brother. 

“You’re lucky you’re so ridiculously cute like this,” said Celegorm, handing it over. “It’s like kicking a puppy when you make that face.”

“Luck has nothing to do with it,” said Curufin, replacing his own tunic with Celegorm’s. “I know exactly what I’m doing.”

And he did, Celegorm had to admit. The too-large tunic hung off one shoulder slightly, and the bruise Curufin had received on his face in a skirmish with an orc scouting party only added to the air of vulnerability. Curufin arranged himself slightly to maximise his desired effect, then smiled beatifically in satisfaction.

“Are you going to help me find Nargothrond, Turco?” he said in a soft voice. “I don’t know the way, but my most favourite cousin lives there!”

Celebrimbor had sunk into breathless, mortified giggles.

“Nice,” said Celegorm. “Can you still cry on command?”

“Of course,” said Curufin, “I’m not an _amateur._”

-

Finrod had accepted them in with open arms, and quietly pulled Celegorm to one side later.

“You need to protect your brother better,” he said, apparently deadly serious. 

Celegorm had to refrain from laughing incredulously, realising Curufin would probably kill him. “I need to protect him better?” he repeated, hoping that his voice did not sound as amused as he felt.

“He’s incredibly delicate!” insisted a well meaning Finrod. “And I know it’s not nice to say, but outside the forge... well. He’s never been the brightest of us. He needs to be taken care of!”

Celegorm thought back to the orc that had bruised Curufin, and how Curufin had retaliated by eviscerating it with such extreme prejudice that blood had splattered all over him. 

“Delicate,” he said slowly. “Right.” Curufin would be happy at least that he apparently hadn’t lost his touch. 

-

The best part about Curufin was that no one saw him coming until it was too late. He thrived on being underestimated, and pretending foolishness allowed him to appear completely from nowhere when he finally did make his move.

Finrod certainly didn’t expect it, as Celegorm and Curufin turned his people against him. Curufin smiled, and Celegorm could see in Finrod’s eyes the realisation that he’d been completely and utterly played. It was delicious, and worth all the crap that Curufin put him through when playing his games.

Curufin smiled his dimpled, glowing grin and murmured quietly to Celegorm, “I always win.”

**Author's Note:**

> Philosophical cake eating moryo is my fave character in this


End file.
